


Holidays with the Allen's

by chasingblue57



Category: The Arrow - Fandom, The Flash, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Holidays, family fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-12 21:47:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3356447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingblue57/pseuds/chasingblue57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They don't quite make it to New Year's Eve, but the girls sure do try.</p><p>[A collection of holiday themed stories featuring Barry, Caitlin and their children through the years, with visits from their extended Flash and Arrow family.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Valentine's Cookies

He’s just turning up the collar of his jacket and walking out of the police station when his phone buzzes. Digging into the pocket of his jeans, a fond smile flickers across his face at the message that pops up. Can you pick up some powdered sugar on your way home? We’re low. Shaking his head, knowing what his wife is up to, Barry shoots Caitlin a text back: Of course, see you soon.

A minute later, he pulls his Nissan Rogue out of the parking lot and heads towards the corner grocery store his family frequents, losing himself in the song on the radio. The song plays on repeat in his mind as he walks through the familiar aisles in search of powdered sugar, plucking a bag from the shelf and grabbing a few other items while he’s at it—fresh apples, coffee creamer, a loaf of bread, all of which he sets gently on the register before beaming at the familiar face at the end. “Hello Mrs. Keller,” he greets, the white haired woman smiling back in return.

“Hello to you too, Barry,” the woman is always happy to see her regular customers in the store, and she seems to hold a special spot in her heart for the Allen family. “You’re missing a few today!”

He just laughs and shrugs, pulling out his wallet while she rings up his purchases. “Just a quick stop for Caitlin, they’re all at home working on a valentine’s project.”

She nods, still smiling and gives his total. They exchange money and “how are you’s”, Mrs. Keller asks how Caitlin’s doing and if the girls are getting excited (well and very!) , and then Barry’s bidding her farewell and back on the short road home. Just like before, he sings along to the radio, his mind half on the case he’s working and half on what awaits him at the end of his drive.

Everything looks relatively calm when he pulls up to the cozy, two story home that he and Caitlin purchased eight years ago but he knows better than most that looks can be deceiving. Breathing in one last moment of calm, he plucks up his groceries and slings his messenger bag across his chest, leaves his car in the garage and makes his way up the path to the front door. The moment he pushes it open, he’s greeted by a chorus of shouts. Knowing he has about ten second to prepare, Barry sets his bags down on the floor and opens his arms wide.

Sure enough, two little bodies come tearing around the corner just a moment later, their own arms outstretched, shouting and smiling ear to ear. In the midst of the noise, he makes out the word “daddy” being played on repeat, astounded as always that his two little girls can raise such a racket. The moment they’re in reach, he leans down to scoop them into a hug, laughing at the way they nuzzle against his side and squeeze tightly. Of all the things he loves about being a father, this might be his favorite: almost nothing feels as good as these first, eager hugs they greet him with when he gets home from a long day at work.

He sets the girls down after planting a kiss against both their cheeks and in unison, his eight year old and his five year begin babbling excitedly about their days (no matter how many times he and Caitlin remind them to take turns, they’re always too eager to wait). He should scold them gently, remind them not to talk over one another (which is causing their volume to hike steadily upwards, and makes it difficult for even him to keep up with both) but he can’t quite manage it. He loves how all he has to do is walk in and it makes them happy, loves how their little eyes light up (one set of brown, one set of green) as they launch into their stories, loves the way Kella tugs at the bottom of his coat in an attempt to distract him from Cara, all while her young sister is using increasingly more animated hand gestures to keep his attention. So instead of reprimanding, he just lets them talk themselves out and then cuts in the second they stop for a breath.

“Sounds like you both had good days,” he remarks, tugging them both in for another quick hug. “I can’t wait to hear all about them, as soon as your school work is done. Do you have any homework tonight?”

The guilty little grins they both give (so very much like his own) cause his heart to clench even while his smile turns a little stern. “What are we working on tonight?” It’s an Allen house rule: schoolwork always comes first, then dinner and family time. 

“Science and math daddy!” Eight-year-old Mikeala confesses, eager and still smiling because she loves both subjects. His oldest is completely brilliant, just like her mother, and absolutely loves school.

“Reading! We have to read a valentine’s book and draw a picture about what happened.” Caralyn, at five, has been reading for a while, advanced for her grade and always eager for more.

“I’m gonna help her with the hard words,” Kella explains enthusiastically, to which Barry nods, proud of how well his oldest daughter helps her little sister.

“I’m going to bring these groceries to mom, let me know if you need any other help. Mom or I will come check in a little bit.” The barely wait for him to finish before scampering off to their play room down the hall, where they’ll sit in their little school corner and work. He watches, amazed as always that this is his life; that he’s somehow managed to get this lucky.

It’s a feeling that only swells when he walks into the kitchen a moment later, greeted by the sight of his beautiful wife at the center island, arms covered in flour and a messy apron tied around her protruding stomach. He knows immediately that she’s been listening to the exchange in the hallway, the evidence in the soft way she’s smiling, her dark eyes catching his fondly. “Welcome home.”

Barry wastes no time in dropping the groceries on the kitchen table (next to a pile of cooling heart shaped cutouts) and moves to greet his wife with a hug and a kiss, one hand resting against her stomach. At five and a half months pregnant, she’s definitely showing, though she’s not quite at the point where she needs to trade in all her normal clothes yet. Barry pulls away from the embrace a moment later, covered in white, and drops a kiss against Caitlin’s nose as she tries not to laugh at the sight of him. “I see you’ve been busy,” he comments, gesturing to the flour and cookie dough filled countertop.

“Wanted to get their treats for tomorrow started early, now that there’s two of them.” Every year since Kella had started kindergarten, Caitlin makes a heart shaped cookie for each of her classmates. After dinner, they all work together to ice them in pale pink, white and red and Kella chooses two candy heart messages to place on each cookie. Once the kids are asleep, she and Barry will pipe the names of each child onto their own cookie and carefully attach the candy hearts. It always takes hours, Caitlin determined to make each one perfect, and this is the first year that Cara will have a box of her own to take to school.

“And the unstoppable duo didn’t demand to help you?” Helping their mother in the kitchen is probably the only thing Kella loves more than horses and Cara loves more than soccer.

Caitlin laughs, wiping her hands off against the straining belly of her apron and moves to check the pan in the oven. “Oh, of course they did but after three trays they got distracted. I sent them to do their homework so we can do the frosting after dinner, which I was hoping you could take care of?”

Barry leans down just a bit to press a kiss to her temple, “of course. Paninis tonight?” At her nod, he gets to work putting away the groceries from earlier, exchanging them for dinner ingredients. They work easily around each other, brushing constantly (and purposefully) as he prepares dinner and Caitlin finishes and cleans up the cookie mess. They chat about their days (even though they’d worked together to track down a meta-human con artist half the morning), and Barry fills any potential silences with quiet singing. It’s an easy rhythm they settle into, perfected over ten years of marriage and twelve together and one they both enjoy. 

The quiet peace is shattered shortly before dinner is actually finished, when both girls appear in the kitchen door, done with school work and hungry, so Caitlin guides them in setting the table and soon enough they sit down to eat. The process only involves minimal squabbles and by the time everything is in its proper place, Barry’s serving up dinner.

Very much their father’s daughters, Kella and Cara take turns scarfing down their food and talking a mile a minute about school though the conversation eventually turns to the valentine’s festivities that the next day will bring. Both are excited to help finishing making their treats, especially Cara who has spent the last two years helping frost but not getting to pick out messages.

Once everyone has finished dinner, and cleaned up, the fun begins.

With Caitlin’s help, the girls spend over an hour deliberating what messages (and heart colors) to give to each of their friends, while Barry just laughs at their suggestions, doing his part and frosting the cookies. Now and then, when planning gets boring, they take a break and help him (which almost always devolves into a tickle fight that Caitlin stops just shy of getting powdered sugar everywhere), before settling back to work.

It takes right up to bath time to finish frosting and choosing, and then Caitlin is herding both girls upstairs for baths and to get ready for bed. Watching, Barry notices the way she moves: a little more stiffly than usual, and is by her side in a minute. “Cait, why don’t you relax for a little while? You’ve been going all day, between work and baking and the girls. I’ll do baths tonight and then call you up when we’re ready for bedtime stories.”

She’s not sure how she got so lucky, to find and fall in love with someone as thoughtful as Barry Allen, but she’s certainly grateful as she nods and watches him head up the stairs, calling out ridiculous warnings to the girls as he does so (“anyone not ready for bath time when I get up the stairs has to bathe in jello!”). Caitlin revels in the silence for a little while, propping her feet up in the recliner until Barry appears on the landing, summoning her for stories.

Because Cara loves it, they reread her homework story, Clifford’s First Valentine’s Day and then, after kisses and hugs (for mommy and daddy and Kella and Cara and their favorite stuffed animals), they flick off all but the nightlight and leave the girls to sleep.

Back downstairs, they begin the final phase of cookie decorating. It takes another hour to pipe out all the names, place on the candies and prep the boxes for packaging in the morning but they both know it will be worth it. Little traditions like these are a cornerstone of the family life they’ve been building, and even when they’re exhausting, they both cherish the life they get to build for their children. Even still, Caitlin can’t help but remark: “I think we’re going to need to bake these a few days early, by the time this little one is ready for valentine’s cookies.” She rests a hand on her stomach.

Sliding his hand over hers, entwining their fingers, Barry just smiles. “I can always take the afternoon off or leave early to help,” he assures her, pulling his wife into his lap and nuzzling in close. “Just think, only one more week and we’ll be know if baby three is a boy or a girl.”

Caitlin sinks into the embrace, nodding against his collarbone, twisting slightly to nestle into his grasp. “I’m not sure who’s more excited, us or the girls. It’s all they could talk about until I distracted them with the cookies.” She loves the feel of his chuckle against her skin and leans up to press a kiss to the side of his jaw, the action interrupted by a yawn.

“Bed time Mrs. Allen?”

“Bed time Mr. Allen.”

They clean up the kitchen and turn in for the night. When Caitlin wakes the next morning to help get the girls ready (a little later than usual, as her alarm seems to have been reset), it’s to see a cookie and a note waiting on her bedside table. She plucks the note out first and reads: I got the girls ready and am bringing them to school. Dr. Wells knows you’ll be in late today. Start with a healthy breakfast : ), sleep in and I’ll see you for lunch? Happy Valentine’s Day! Love, the luckiest man in the world.

Smiling, she plucks up the cookie to see Mommy frosted unevenly across the top (Kella’s doing, no doubt) and two candy hearts (Play Time & I <3 You from Cara), as well as a bouquet of fresh flowers on her dresser from her husband. Happy Valentine’s Day indeed.


	2. St. Patrick's Day

“We are not calling him Patrick or Lucky,” Caitlin says, looking up in a failed attempt to catch her husband’s gaze (his eyes are cast down precisely where hers have been for an unfathomable chunk of time). Her tone, meant to be somewhat stern, comes out barely more than a soft whisper: a combination of the strain of birth and the sense of complete awe that is filling her. Even though this is their third child, the overwhelming wonder and amazement is no different then the day Kella was born—it leaves her grappling, grasping in its wake, astounded by the life they’ve created. Of course, Barry has not been faring much better: the sudden bubble of laughter her comment brings chases away a collection of tears that have been lingering at the corners of his eyes as he watches his beautiful, slumbering son and his beautiful, beaming wife.

“Cisco is going be pretty disappointed.” He looks up now, meeting Caitlin’s gaze with a tender but teasing expression that is so gloriously familiar that it fills her with warmth and peace despite today’s chaotic turn of events.

It was supposed to be just another Tuesday. She and Barry had woken early then took turns showering and dressing before they made their way downstairs to make breakfast and pack lunches. Once everyone had eaten and they’d gotten the girls ready, Barry had gone to the precinct and she’d dropped the girls off at school, laughing as Kella told Cara all about leprechaun who liked to visit Miss Grathen’s room each year for St. Patrick’s Day. By the time she’d dropped them off, Cara could barely sit still for a goodbye before she was tearing off to her kindergarten classroom to see for herself.

Caitlin had gone to work as usual, fixed herself a cup of decaf mint tea and begun to follow up on some research that she’d been working on for over a month. It was the same routine as always until just after ten when her water broke and the first of the contractions had started.

Though she has felt ready to give birth at just about any minute (as she’s been feeling for weeks), Caitlin hadn’t really expected it to happen sitting at her desk at Star Labs—at least not yet. She was still two weeks from her due date and both the girls had come a few days late. Needless to say, Barry had gotten a fairly frantic phone call from Cisco midmorning and had shown up seconds later. Just like both times prior, she’d had to use her ‘loud voice’ (a phrase taken from Felicity) to assure Barry that she would be just fine if they drove to the hospital rather than flashed there. (He’d pouted the exact same way he had twice previously as well, an expression she’d rolled her eyes at before beginning to leave him behind as she walk to her car).

And here they are now, five hours later, staring down at their perfect son and waiting on the arrival of Uncle Cisco with the girls and visits from Joe, Iris, Eddie and their two boys.

“I’m sure he’ll survive,” Caitlin laughs quietly, though the sound is hushed as she gets distracted by the way it causes their little one to wriggle against her chest, still fast asleep. “As long as we have a name picked out before he gets here and starts giving his input anyway.” Because of course, Uncle Cisco will take it upon himself to help out and will do everything in his power to come up with a name that captures the spirit of the holiday little boy Allen has decided to come into the world on.

“Mmhmm,” Barry agrees absently, likewise allowing his gaze to stray back down to the bundle cuddled against Caitlin’s chest. He is so excited to share this experience with his girls, given that both are old enough to appreciate and remember meeting their brother for the first time but for the moment, he’s also grateful for the chance to bask in this time with just the two of them.

As if sensing his thoughts, Caitlin shifts over a little, making more room at her side so that Barry can sit next her, rather than on the edge of the hospital bed. He takes the invitation, stretching out carefully at her side, wrapping one arm around two of the most important people in his life, while he considers them both carefully. “No theme names then?” He teases once more, pressing a laughing kiss against her dark hair as Caitlin’s nose wrinkles and she shakes her head.

“Definitely not.”

A relatives silence settles through the room as they both turn to their thoughts, searching for a name that will fit with Mikeala Grace and Caralyn Nora—a question that has stumped them for months, despite plenty of discussion and lots of suggestions from the girls. The quiet lingers a little longer before it is suddenly interrupted by a knock that turns into a door bursting open and two quickly quieted shouts of excitement.

Clearly remembering that Uncle Cisco has just told them to remember to keep their voices down, both Kella and Cara stop talking abruptly, freezing in their spots to stare at their mother. Smiling and holding back laughter, Barry eases off the bed and walks over to hug them both. “It’s okay girls, you can talk just remember to keep your voices down, your baby brother is sleeping.” And just like that they break into a million whispered questions and exclamations, which increase steadily in volume as time goes on.

The girls eagerly take turns holding their brother and snuggling with their mother, while Cisco fills them in on everyone else’s whereabouts and takes dozens of pictures of the family of five—sending them all off immediately to Felicity (no doubt as instructed by said woman). The rest of the family arrives for a quick visit and lots of hugs (and more pictures) before heading out again to let them rest promising to help get everyone settled back at the house the next day. Caitlin has a feeling that Iris and Eddie are actually planning to clean and stock groceries the second they leave the hospital and she feels a rush of affection for her sister-in-law as Iris wraps her in a careful hug and tells her once more that her new nephew is ‘absolutely perfect’.

Iris, Eddie, Joe and the boys have barely left when Barry hears the sound of grumbling tummies and checks the clock to realize it’s suddenly way past dinnertime. He scoops up Cara, who is in the middle of telling her mom all about the leprechaun at school, and playfully presses an ear to her stomach. Giggling, she squirms in his grasp and shouts, “daddy that tickles!”

“Sorry buttercup, I just thought I heard something funny—like maybe you’re stomach was getting empty and needed to be filled back up.”

She laughs again as Barry sets her down and turns to Kella, who is already waiting for him to check her as well—a game they play often in the Allen house. Instead of listening, he runs his fingers against her sides and she twists out of his grasp and runs over to Uncle Cisco for protection. He crouches down to pull her into a hug. “Hey girls, how about we go get some pizza and let mom and dad and the baby rest for the night?” It takes a little convincing—and Cisco’s promise that they can make a fort to sleep in at his apartment—before they’re willing to go and even then, Cara rushes back inside when she realizes she didn’t finish telling her story about the leprechaun.

“Oh wait, mommy!” She bursts out suddenly, “I forgot to tell you about the letter!” Caitlin listens closely as her more gregarious child launches into a rapid, detailed account of the letter that the leprechaun left behind, trying to remember word for word what it said before she realizes she has a copy in her backpack with a picture of what she thought he looked like and what Cara would buy with his pot of gold if she found it. “I’ll leave it so you can read it to little brother for a story tonight!” She decides, pulling off her backpack and rummaging through until she produces the piece of paper. Beaming with pride, she presents the folded cardstock to Caitlin, picture side out and then, after pressing one last kiss to her mother’s cheek, lets Cisco take her hand and lead her and Kella back to the car.

Barry walks them to the elevator and is still laughing over their antics (all three of them, because Uncle Cisco turns into an even bigger kid than usual when he’s with the girls) when he returns to the room to see his wife in tears. Immediately alarmed, he speeds across the room and gazes down at their son with worry and then relief before even asking what’s wrong.

Caitlin just shakes her head and holds up the picture: an image of all five of them with an empty pot of gold and a little green blob of a leprechaun and a carefully scribbled sentence below: I would trade all the gold to meet my new baby brother. As the image chokes Barry up, she scans the letter on the opposite side. “Benjamin,” Caitlin mutters a moment later, prompting a watery and confused ‘huh’ from Barry. She shows him the signature on the letter as a decisive smile spreads across her face. “The leprechaun’s name is Benjamin.”

Just like he’d learned to do years ago, Barry reads between the lines, grinning back at his wife and their once again sleeping son. “Benjamin Henry Allen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I was trying to decide what my St. Patricks’ Day holiday family fic was going to be about, I realized that I've written stories centered on Kella and Cara, but nothing that really focuses on Ben, though Caitlin's referenced as being pregnant in the last chapter of this story. So, I decided that he was a St. Patrick's Day baby and here we are: the birth of Benjamin Henry Allen and how I decided his name comes about in my family fic universe. Just some random holiday fluff with the family.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed! If you have ideas for other holidays I should be sure to write for, let me know!
> 
> Thanks & comments/suggestions/ideas are always welcome! Take care!


	3. Mother's Day

The second Sunday in May dawns bright and beautiful, a perfect precursor to the summer weather that’s waiting to break through the smattering of spring showers that have covered Central City lately. Caitlin wakes up early, reaching quickly to silence the chirp of her alarm clock before the quiet sound wakes her slumbering husband—a stupid worry really, Barry Allen would probably sleep through a meta human induced apocalypse if he didn’t have her to elbow him awake. Still, she’s been waiting for this particular Sunday morning for a while now and she doesn’t want to leave anything to chance.

Quiet and careful, she eases herself out of his grasp, pausing to stroke gentle fingers across his brow when Barry stirs slightly, the action soothing him back into a deep sleep, punctuated only by the occasional drag of a snore (which he swears he does not do, always looking so put out by the accusation that she gives up and kisses him placatingly). Once she’s completely extricated herself from his arms, Caitlin tiptoes out of the room, stopping only to snag her robe—her pajamas not quite warm enough against the lingering chill of yesterday’s rain.

By the time she’s downstairs and in the kitchen, she’s much less worried about waking Barry up with too much noise—if he makes it out of bed without her urging, it’ll be his stomach that leads him, not his ears, so Caitlin turns on some music and starts making breakfast. Digging through the refrigerator and pantry, she pulls out all the ingredients to make his favorite: strawberry stuffed French toast. She’d snuck out to the grocery store during her lunch on Friday and hid the ingredients behind a wall of yogurt, determined to surprise him with his favorite breakfast and the secret she’s been keeping: she’s pregnant; they’re going to have a baby.

Caitlin has known for about three weeks and had suspected for days before that, but she’s been keeping the secret from Barry, excitement building, because she’s wanted to tell him on Mother’s Day. As long as she’s known him (and for years before that), the second Sunday in May has been a hard day for Barry, filled with sad memories and loss. When she’d first begun to suspect she was pregnant, and then confirmed it, she’d immediately realized it was the perfect opportunity to give him a new, happy memory to associate with the day. It’s been a long few weeks, she’s been wanting to tell him at every turn, every time they’ve made love, every time they’ve kissed, every time he’s smiled at her with that wide, amazed grin he gets—she’s never been great at keeping secrets and keeping them from Barry is particularly excruciating but she knows it’s going to be worth it.

Filled with happiness, she flips French toast and pours orange juice, mixes filling and slathers berries and strawberry sauce with whipping cream (giggling a little as she remembers they last time they’d had whipping cream in the fridge, though she also recalls having to wash all their sheets after that and resolves to be a little more careful today), before setting it all on a tray. Gazing over her handiwork and more than ready to spill her secret, Caitlin hoists the tray up and begins a slow, careful walk back up to their bedroom. She’s just outside the door when she begins calling out, attempting to wake Barry with the sound of his name.

It fails, spectacularly. Rolling her eyes fondly, Caitlin sets the tray down on the nightstand, abandons her robe for the floor, and craws onto the bed to lean over her husband. It takes a long, slow kiss to snap those green eyes open, but he thinks quickly on his figurative feet, so it’s not long before he’s kissing back enthusiastically. “Good morning,” they murmur simultaneously, both a little breathless and sidetracked—at least until Barry smells food.

She watches his eyes track sideways, laughing at the way they blow wide open, suddenly very awake, when they see the tray just a few feet away. “Is that stuffed French toast?” he asks, voice still rough with the (relatively) early hour. He’s so adorably predictable, she just nods and swings off of him, settling against his side as he pulls the tray over both their laps. For a little while, they talk about their plans for the day and pick eagerly at breakfast, Barry offering her every other forkful until she’s absolutely stuffed and he’s finishing off the last two pieces of syrup and berry soaked bread.

It’s only after breakfast is finished and their plans are set (Joe’s for lunch, then taking Joey to the park while Iris and Eddie have an afternoon date), that Barry turns to Caitlin to press a grateful (slightly sticky) kiss to her temple. “Thanks for breakfast Cait, what’s the special occasion?” Not that she needs one, but surprise breakfast in bed is usually reserved for special days.

“Well, it’s mother’s day,” she starts, smiling beautifully at the way a puzzled expression spreads across his sleepy gaze, “and since it’s the last one where you won’t be doing something special for me, I thought I’d do something nice for you.” It takes a minute for what she’s saying to sink in, but when it does, Barry’s moving like lightning, knocking the tray off his lap and scooping her into his arms, laughing happily and pressing eager kisses across her face when she confirms that yes, she does mean what he thinks she means.

(She ends up having to wash whipping cream off all their sheets again, but the way Barry smiles all day—and then totally accidentally spills the news to Joe, Iris and Eddie at lunch—is completely worth it).

\--

Caitlin isn’t sure if it’s the giggles, the shout of ‘Happy Momma’s Day’ or the knee in her kidney that wakes her up but when she opens her eyes to find Kella’s peering brightly into them, a big smile stretched across her face, she knows it doesn’t really matter. Instead, wincing only a little bit, she sits up and wraps her arms around her beaming little girl, tugging her into a hug that Kella returns fiercely. “Thanks peanut,” she finally says, dropping a kiss against the (sticky) little dimple on her two-and-a-half-year-old cheek. Eventually Caitlin pulls away and Kella bounces into the space next to her, looking pointedly at the end of the bed where Barry is standing, wearing his own grin and holding a tray full of breakfast and haphazardly arranged flowers.

“Happy mother’s day Cait,” he greets fondly, sliding around and into the bed on Kella’s other side. Reaching with impatient arms, their daughter guides the tray onto her lap before picking up a piece of toast and offering it eagerly to her mother.

“We made you breakfast momma,” she explains, clearly excited for Caitlin to enjoy her part in the breakfast first. Unable to deny their daughter anything, Caitlin leans down to take a bite of the jelly-smeared toast right from her hand, which causes Kella to burst into a fresh fit of giggles. “It’s for you momma, you keep it,” she explains in that slightly impatient way that Caitlin constantly tries to deny she gets from her (no matter how many times Barry insists). Smiling, Caitlin does take the toast, eating it with an exaggerated hunger, claiming it’s the best toast she’s ever had. Kella beams satisfaction before helping herself to her own piece.

The three of them slowly devour the small mountain of toast, scrambled eggs and orange slices while Kella and Barry explain the day they have planned to celebrate. A day which consists of lunch with Grandpa Joe and Auntie Iris and Uncle Eddie and cousin Joey, then a visit to the park for ice cream and a whole afternoon of stories in the backyard. Caitlin smiles at the day obviously planned by their two year old, meeting Barry’s gaze over her dark curls.

Once their food is gone, Barry and Kella take the tray away, insisting Caitlin relax for a little bit longer while they take care of the Sunday morning chores. Knowing it’s useless to argue (not that she’d planned to) Caitlin snags her book off the nightstand and catches up on a few chapters, surfacing from the plot now and then to the sounds of laughter and music and the vacuum cleaner. She takes a moment to marvel at how lucky she is, only to be distracted when she suddenly notices the time on the clock. Sighing, she sticks her bookmark back and makes her way to the master bath—they need to be to Joe’s in an hour and a half, which means it’s time to get back to the real world.

She’s halfway through her shower when she hears a familiar voice call out: “Want some company?”

Laughing, she tugs open the shower door and peers through the gathered steam at Barry, already stripped to his boxers, standing in the doorway with his trademark smirk. “Where’s Kella?”

His grin only widens at her chosen answer—not even close to a no. “Picking out a dress for today and finishing up the card for your present—we’ve got time.” Which is all it takes for her to slide the door open a little farther, welcoming him in. Barry’s lost his boxers and closed the shower door behind him almost before she can blink, but he takes his time for the next few minutes, unraveling her carefully and showing his appreciation and love in his own way.

Sated and satisfied, they slow back down again and finish washing up just in time to hear a voice call out from the other end of the hallway. “Momma, help!”

Trading wet, towel-wrapped smiles, Barry and Caitlin shake their heads in unison. “Tights,” Caitlin sighs knowingly, trading the towel for her robe and laughing when Barry darts forward to steal one more kiss.

“I love you,” he sighs against her lips, ever the softhearted romantic.

“Love you too,” and okay, so maybe he’s turned her into one too, because she hedges her bets and leans in again, only to pull back when Kella calls out for help again, sounding a little more distressed (probably tangled up in trying to get her tights on by herself).

“Happy Mother’s Day Cait,” Barry chuckles.

And it is.

(Caitlin gets breakfast in bed that year, a morning off of chores and a picture book that Kella and Barry made together. Six weeks later, they get a belated Mother’s Day gift: she’s pregnant again.)

\--

Caitlin wakes up the sound of something loud falling downstairs, jarred instantly alert with just enough time to notice Barry flashing right back under the covers. Blinking quickly, she raises a brow in question and is greeted by a wide grin. “It’s alright, just the kids,” he reassures, even though the words are not the least bit reassuring.

“Destroying the house?” She grumbles slightly, sitting up despite his attempts at calming her down. The warm laughter her comment inspires does a better job of soothing her too-quickly beating heart, as does the movement of his hands across her face.

“Making you breakfast,” Barry explains, only laughing more when understanding lights those beautifully familiar brown eyes he loves so much. “Exactly, so why don’t we try to go back to sleep until they come up to surprise you?” She can’t argue with that logic, or the way he tugs her firmly against her side, dragging her down for a kiss that makes it easy to ignore the clank of pots and pans rattling ominously on the floor below.

-

“Cara, be careful!” Grouses fourteen-year-old Kella, sighing heavily as her little sister clanks a set of ceramic plates down against the tile countertop.

To her credit, Cara looks apologetic as she sets the cups down much more quietly. “Sorry,” she whispers, the attempt unnecessary against all the other noise the three have made so far.

Caving, Kella heaves another exasperated sigh and shakes her head. “It’s alright,” because she knows her little sister isn’t trying to ruin the surprise. “Can you help Ben get the toast ready?” She asks instead, pouring the last of the blueberry pancake batter onto the griddle.

Cara nods and skips over to where they’ve set Ben up, settled on the counter top in his pajamas, plopping bread into the toaster and piling a stack of perfectly golden toast onto a plate. “Ready to add jam Ben?” She asks, detouring at the refrigerator.

Grinning widely, both front teeth missing, he nods enthusiastically. “Get the strawberry Cara!” he automatically requests: it’s his favorite. It’s also the last jar of the jam they made last summer, but she figures today is as good a day as any to finish it, so Cara pulls it out and snags two knives from the drawer, tugging over a chair so they can work together. They make quick work of the gigantic pile of toast, though six-year-old Ben leaves almost as much jam on the counter as on the toast—they’ll clean it up after breakfast.

“Toast is ready Kella!” Ben announces, much too loudly, when they finish. This time both girls shush him, which just leaves him giggling. Both sisters share an eye roll before Cara helps pull Ben down from the counter, wiping his sticky hands with the kitchen rag before he can rub them against anything else (they have enough cleaning to do without the help).

“Pancakes are finished.” Kella is much more quiet then her siblings (pretty much always actually), as she surveys their handiwork. Not bad, considering they’ve been up for an hour finishing their plans. The breakfast tray is stacked high with toast and pancakes and plates and cups and cutlery. Next to it is a gallon of milk, a vase full of flowers and a neatly wrapped present they’d spent days arguing over. “Let’s go surprise mom.”

Cara carefully hands Ben the flowers before grabbing the milk and present, letting him lead the way while Kella follows with the tray of food. It’s slow going up the stairs (pretty much the opposite of normal: all three of them barrel up and down the stairs so quickly and loudly that their mother worries they’re going to inherit their father’s speed after all) but eventually they make it. Over eager, Ben picks up the pace on the landing, bursting into their parent’s room a few feet in front of his sisters and shouting out “Happy Momma’s Day!” against the sounds of both girls grumbling because he didn’t wait for them. They appear wearing identical scowls a moment later, though they both abandon them to shout “Happy Mother’s Day!” as soon as they see that Caitlin and Barry are up and smiling.

All earlier scuffles forgotten, they bunch together on Caitlin’s side of the bed to offer up their surprises. “We made breakfast,” Ben explains as Kella sets the tray on the comforter. “I made the toast and picked the flowers,” he adds proudly, then hastily adds, “Cara helped!” when she elbows him in the ribs.

“I made the vase in school,” she says as Caitlin reaches for them and settles the new vase and bouquet of (adorably mismatched) garden flowers on her nightstand. “And Kella made pancakes.” Caitlin has to laugh at the eager little sniff Cara gives (her appetitive almost rivals her father’s), even as she sounds proud of her big sister’s cooking abilities.

“We got you a present too mom,” Kella finishes, nudging Cara to present the neatly wrapped box. She does with a flourish, beaming when their mother takes it with a hint of a tear in her eye, their father watching on proudly. It’s the first year they’d insisted on doing everything themselves, and he’s pretty choked up about how well they worked together (both proud and a little nostalgic that they’re growing up and don’t need them as much).

“You guys didn’t have to get me a present, breakfast in bed together is already enough,” Caitlin insists, but the chorus of “open it’s” is immediate, so she does with a fond smile and a shake of her head. Beneath the pretty gold wrapping paper and carefully tied red bow is a nondescript, long, rectangular box. Brow furrowed with curiosity, Caitlin tugs off the top, only to gasp as what lies below: a little silver charm bracelet with three charms hanging off: a horse, a soccer ball and a dinosaur, each obviously chosen by her children. She nearly knocks over their breakfast in her haste to draw all three into a hug. “It’s perfect, thank you,” her words swallowed up by a line of happy tears.

“Momma?” Ben says, still caught up in her hug. “Can we eat breakfast now? I’m hungry!”

(It’s definitely the best mother’s day yet. They spend the morning curled up in bed after breakfast, watching a movie until it’s time to clean up the kitchen and get ready for Sunday lunch at Grandpa Joe’s and afterwards the girls take Ben to the park for a few hours, so Caitlin and Barry take advantage of the alone time. There are no six-week-later-surprises this time, which Barry teases her about for weeks.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Family fluff all over the place! I really liked the idea of Caitlin using Mother’s Day to tell Barry she was pregnant, then I thought about how funny it would be if she became a mother on mother’s day, so I started going through my stories to see if that timeline would fit with what I have down already. It did, so I just went for it. In the last scene, Kella is 14, Cara is 11 and Ben is 6. Hopefully the scenes and kids actions make sense for their ages, I don't hang out with a lot of little kids (my cousins are all older now and my only nieces/nephews are dogs, so I did my best).
> 
> Based on what I’ve written for this ‘verse, Kella’s born mid-December, Cara in early February and obviously we know Ben is a St. Patrick’s Day baby.
> 
> Anyhow, hope you guys all enjoyed it!


	4. April Fools

Caitlin is about halfway through folding a load of laundry (towels mostly, with a few pairs of both large and tiny socks mysteriously intermixed) when she hears the faint sound of giggling coming from around the corner. Curious, she pauses mid-fold to listen more closely, smiling when she deciphers two distinct timbres in the happy sound: Barry and Ben. The giggles last barely a moment longer, their amusement fading away as abruptly as it had begun, only to be replaced a second later by the breezy rush of a whisper. Brow furrowed in, she tries to make out what Barry is telling their son, but the words are both (miraculously) too quiet to be overheard, so Caitlin shrugs off her curiosity and returns to her previously productive Sunday morning.

It’s as she’s reaching for the last jumble of towels that all hell breaks loose (a common enough occurrence in the Allen household, given their three children and her superhero husband). Like she usually does, Caitlin pulls out a clump of towels to drop on top of the dryer, intending to untangle and fold them one at a time, but as she’s tugging the jumble out, something in the pile catches her eye. Grabbing at it, she erupts into a shriek when that something turns out to be a snake.

Of course, the peal of raucous laughter that follows her shout puts the pieces together rather quickly and Caitlin immediately realizes that the offending animal is in fact a (very impressive but very much rubber) fake. “Benjamin and Bartholomew Allen!” She shouts, gasping for her lost breath and using what Barry likes to call her ‘mom voice’ (it’s a lot like her doctor voice, he enjoys teasing her, a fond grin twisting his lips playfully). Two sets of green eyes peer around the corner before she’s even finished shouting their names. The rest of them follow soon after.

Her boys are wearing identical looks of poorly disguised amusement, both trying and utterly failing to appear innocent as they stand before her. Laundry abandoned, still half hanging from the dryer, Caitlin turns on her bare heel and splays her fingers across her hips, a pointed look drawing her brows up as her eyes take in the adorably guilty sight standing for judgment. She supposes they’re at least trying to look chastised, even if their shared pride at having scared her is the dominating expression on their faces.

As she continues to fix them with a stern expression, they both seem to come to the realization that they’re looks of contrition are falling short, so Ben instead puts on his widest, sweetest smile. “April Fools momma!” he shouts, completing abandoning the feigned innocence. She can’t help it, her four year old looks so proud of himself that she breaks, scooping him into her arms to cuddle him close and tickle his sides. He squeals and squirms until he’s breathless and she tugs him in to a tight hug. “Good prank momma?” Ben asks, sounding so very hopeful (so like his father that her heart flutters in her chest and she can’t help but meet Barry’s eyes over their son’s mop of dark, messy curls).

Caitlin smiles at the expression she finds there (his own laughter replaced by something far more tender), then drops a kiss to the top of Ben’s head as she settles him back on the ground. “A very good prank,” she confirms, laughing when a delighted grin lights up his whole face. He looks just like Barry does after he’s saved the day (Caitlin swears she falls in love with them all over again daily—their three perfect children and her ridiculous husband).

“Why don’t you go try it on one of your sisters?” Barry chimes in.

Ben wastes no time in scampering forward to grab the snake, tearing off around the corner like a little bolt of four year old lightning (thank God, they often think, that Barry’s powers hadn’t been passed on to their children). The sound of his snickering laughter trails after the eager beat of his bare feet against the hardwood.

That leaves Barry and Caitlin alone in the relative quiet of the laundry room. Adopting the same wide, sweet smile as his son, Barry steps into his wife’s personal space with a cheeky, “April Fools Cait.”

She rolls hers eyes but lets him pull her in for a kiss anyway. “You do realize,” she asks when they pull away, “that they’re going to spend the entire day playing tricks on each other and fighting, right?” She’s pretty sure someone will end up crying by dinner, maybe several someones.

Barry’s eyes swim with mirth, even as he shakes his head and heaves a heavy, exaggerated sigh. “Caitlin Allen, do you not know me at all?” Her brow furrows and raises in turns, communicating her twin confusion and curiosity. Apparently not. “They’re going to play all of two tricks on each other and then I’m going to convince them to plan the ultimate prank on Uncle Cisco.” Who, no doubt, will think it’s the best thing ever, because Cisco is even more a child than her children. It is, admittedly, a pretty solid plan.

Their laughter is interrupted only be a screaming voice—Kella—calling out, “Mom! Dad!” in that tone that means a day full of bickering might indeed be imminent and that the need for intervention is rapidly building.

Leaning up, Caitlin presses another quick kiss to Barry’s lips before giving him a little nudge out of the room. “You’d better get convincing then superdad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I recently realized I got extremely behind on updating this series and figured I'd best catch up before the next holiday hits (Father's Day will be my next holiday fic to write). I always write and publish to tumblr first, then make edits after I've had a few days to look back over and get any feedback. But apparently I've been neglecting updating this series, so I'll be posting a Memorial Day fic either Sunday night or Monday morning so that I can get caught up.
> 
> Sorry about all that, but I do hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'd gotten some requests for a little more interaction with Ben, so he's the sole feature on this one. I think I might focus in on Cara for the Father's Day fic, since I think she's the most like Barry but if anyone has any thoughts on that, I'd be glad to have them.
> 
> As always, thanks for any and all feedback!


	5. Memorial Day

“Mom?”

Caitlin looks up from where she’s slicing up rhubarb to see her middle child covered in flour and looking contemplative, her green eyes muddled with whatever question she’s no doubt dying to ask. Curiosity is a pretty standard family trait in the Allen household and Cara has inherited her father’s complete inability to keep hers at bay for too long. Smiling affectionately, Caitlin gives a go ahead nod and an accompanying, “hmm?” that signals she’s listening to whatever her daughter has to say.

“Why do we make rhubarb pie every year for Memorial Day?” She’s standing on the opposite end of the kitchen island, carefully rolling out pie crusts and fitting them into the worn old tins that Caitlin has inherited from Great Grandma West’s collection—a wedding gift from Joe and Iris years ago that she treasures and loves to use.

“It’s tradition,” she settles for the simplest answer, not sure if Cara’s asking because she really wants the full story or is just idly curious (the most energetic of her three, Caralyn’s not knowing for sitting still for a story for long, no matter how badly she wants the answer). It’s the simplest answer, but not an incorrect one—rhubarb pie at the family barbeque is tradition. Caitlin’s been bringing the pies since she first started going, though it’s also a tradition that reaches back into her farthest childhood memories, standing in her grandparent’s kitchen, as covered with flour as Cara is now, helping her grandma bake.

“But why?” Cara’s got that same stubborn, unrelenting crease between her eyes that Barry gets when he just has to understand something and it always makes Caitlin smile. Of all their children, Cara is the most like her father—everything except for her auburn curls seems to come straight from Barry—and so she knows now that this is a conversation that’s going to demand her full attention (once something’s set in Cara’s mind, it’s not going anywhere).

Laughing a little, Caitlin grabs a towel and dries her hands off before nodding toward the hallway. “Come here,” she invites, handling the eleven year old a rag for her own hands while simultaneous wiping the one she’d used across Cara’s flour paled face. Caitlin’s earlier hint of laughter breaks out into a full chuckle as the pre-teen squirms away with rolling eyes (okay, so maybe it’s more than just the curls).

She can tell from the way that Cara is practically buzzing with energy that she’s dying to figure out what’s going on, but Caitlin just leads her into the office where she pulls an old photo album from the top shelf of one of the bookcases. She motions towards the floor and Cara follows her down, settling against the open wall, legs stretched out in front of her. “This was my grandmother’s,” she explains quietly, spreading the album between both their laps as she begins to page through. Caitlin had grown up close to her grandparents, spending quite a few summers and long weekends visiting them and listening to their stories, but the memories are hard with them both gone, just another piece of her past she rarely shares.

“You never got to meet her, but you would have loved her,” Caitlin’s grandmother was the kind of woman it was hard not to love—not unlike Cara really; energetic, gregarious but undeniably warm. “And she would have loved you Cara,” she does, maybe. Caitlin typically doesn’t think too much about life after, not when there’s too much to worry about in this lifetime. “You’re a lot alike, actually.”

“But I thought I was just like dad?” Right down to the puzzled frown they both wear, Caitlin thinks with a shake of her head.

“You are sweetheart, but you’re a lot like Grandma Mary too.” Cara nods acceptingly, and leans in a little bit to examine the pictures spread across the pages Caitlin’s paused on. She’s focused on the big one right now, the black and white wedding photo that has the place of honor in the center of the right hand page. “That’s Great Grandma Mary and Great Grandpa Will’s wedding day.”

“May 25th, 1946,” Cara reads, fingers reaching up to trace over the tidy, faded script that marks the date. She feels her mother nod beside her and catches the warmth of her smile even as her green eyes continue to trace the photos. “Grandpa was in the army?” She asks, stalling on an older photo on the bottom of the page—a man who is undoubtedly Grandpa Will standing with another man, both wearing big grins and looking impossibly young despite the worn edges and faded color of the old picture.

“He served in World War II,” Caitlin’s voice is quiet, but it’s also warm with memories; a story she’d grown up hearing so often repeated. “That’s his best friend Richie.” She points to the other man in the picture, standing with one hand cuffed along her grandfather’s shoulder. “Richie’s the reason we have rhubarb pie every year for Memorial Day.”

The startled, questioning look that runs across Cara’s face like lightning makes Caitlin laugh aloud again. She brings up a hand to smooth away a few errant curls and ease the frustrated furrow that settles along her daughter’s brow as her curiosity flares anew. “Grandma Mary and Richie were sweethearts,” Cara giggles at the old fashioned term and, poking her side teasingly, Caitlin rolls her eyes a little, “before the war. She and Richie and Grandpa all went to school together. Richie and Grandpa enlisted together and went off to fight in France,” those were stories Grandpa had often told, whenever the mood had struck him or he felt like there was a lesson to be learned or remembered. “But Richie never made it home, he died in a battle halfway through the war. Grandpa Will kept writing Grandma Mary after he died and when he got back, they started dating and got married the next spring.”

Caitlin remembers her grandfather telling her about falling in love with her grandmother once (one of the only stories he rarely shared). She remembers him explaining how in the wake of the loss of their best friend, they’d only grown closer, how they relied on one another and, already so close, just fell in love in the process. Some days she thinks her grandparent’s story reminds her a lot of hers and Barry’s and she hopes that means they’ll have that kind of lifelong happiness, even in the wake of tragedy. Looking at Cara, tucked against her side, tracing over the photo, she figures they’ve made a pretty good start so far.

“So we make rhubarb pie for Richie?” She still sounds a little confused, lost in thought as her fingers dance along the edges of photographs filled with people she’s never met but clearly wants to understand.

“It was his favorite, so Grandma always made it to honor his memory and she and grandpa would take flowers to his grave to thank and remember him.” And when her grandparent’s had passed away, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to abandon that tradition, instead passing it on to her children. She wishes his grave wasn’t half a state away, along with her grandparents’ but she thinks if there is a something after, then they all appreciate the gesture.

For a little while, they sit in silence and stare at the photos, until Caitlin feels Cara turn against her side. “Hey mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think after Kella’s done playing in the parade, maybe dad could take me to put flowers on Richie’s grave? Just real quick before we go to Grandpa Joe’s for lunch?”

Smiling, Caitlin leans forward to press a kiss against her daughter’s curls, bursting with affectionate pride. “I think that sounds wonderful sweetheart. Why don’t we finish those pies before we have to meet dad, Kella and Ben at the parade?”

Cara nods and bounces up immediately, solemn mood mostly broken. Caitlin watches skip back toward the kitchen with a grin before leaving the album on the table to share with the rest of the family later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one is a bit late, but now I should be back on track.
> 
> The idea for this one just kinda stumbled into my mind and then I started fleshing it out and falling in love with the parallel between Caitlin’s (fictional) family history and her relationship with Barry. Plus, it was fun to put some seriousness into my family fic verse and get some one on one with Cara. In the story, Kella is playing the band for the local parade, so Barry took her and he and Ben are saving good seats, in case you need to know where they are.
> 
> Traditions is a big, if underlying and quiet, theme in my family fic universe, so just trying to integrate them into stories. Hope you guys liked this one, I know it’s a little heavier then I usually write, but it’s kind of a heavy holiday if you actually take the time to recognize the real meaning of it.
> 
> Father's day fic should be up in the next day or two.


	6. Father's Day

“Congratulations baby girl,” Barry whispers over the soft sounds of the country song playing in the background. All around them, they’re surrounded by smiling eyes, but his are only for the girl (the woman, he reminds himself, hard as it is to admit) wrapped up in his arms. They’re swaying along lazily to the slow beat, taking up a scarce few feet of the sprawling wooden dance floor that’s empty save for the lights that illuminate the solitary dancers.

“Thanks daddy,” Kella smiles up at him, quiet but intensely sincere as she falls back into the childhood term of endearment. She looks as beautiful as he’s ever seen her, glowing with happiness in her white dress, her hair falling in the same soft curls as her mother’s. She’s been perfect since the moment she was born (six pounds, twelve ounces, dark curls plastered to her head, five days late and screaming), and it’s choked him up on more than a few occasions, but every time he’s looked at her today, he’s had to fight off tears.

Now is absolutely no exception.

There’s heat prickling along the corners of his eyes, and he does his best to stave it off, but despite his best efforts, he hears his daughter’s quiet laugh a moment later. “I’ll always be your little girl dad,” she tries to reassure him, curling in closer and laying her head against his chest (just reaching the collarbone, the same as Caitlin does—they’re mirror images in so many ways, his wife and his eldest).

Laughing himself, though it’s a watery sort of chuckle, Barry just pulls her gratefully closer. “I know sweetheart, I know. But this is still a hard day for your old man.” And good lord but does he feel old, standing here, dancing along with his first born at her wedding, saying goodbye to a part of their life together that he knows he’ll never get back. It’s the saddest happy day of his life (he’s not sure how anyone can expect him to do it again with Cara).

Kella doesn’t say anything, just relaxes against him and lets him sniffle a little as he leads them through the rest of the song, lost in a whirlwind of memories of years that have passed by entirely too quickly: the day she was born, in the middle of a mid-December snowstorm; her first day of kindergarten, loaded down with a backpack full of horse themed school supplies; her first grade career project, when she’d decided to become a vet; years of riding lessons; band practice and performances; winning the senior science fair; her first day of college and her graduation from vet school. His little girl has grown up before his eyes and now they’re standing here, swaying through the final chords of their father-daughter dance, saying the last goodbyes to a childhood that’s already long gone.

The final beats fade away and they separate amidst the sound of cheers and applause. Unwilling to let go quite yet, Barry holds Kella at arm’s length and takes one long look at his not-so-little girl. She’s grown into exactly the kind of woman he and Caitlin had always hoped she would (passionate and brilliant, strong and independent, with her mother’s laugh at an open heart) and he could not be more proud. Smiling, soft and thoughtful, he pulls her back in and places a kiss against her forehead. “I am so proud of you Mikeala Grace, and so happy for you. Ian is a lucky man.”

He doesn’t miss the way tears well in her eyes before she pitches herself forward, pulling Barry into a tight hug. “Thanks dad,” he hears her mumble, choked up, against the collar of his suit. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

(Three hours later, as he and Caitlin finally tumble into their bed at the hotel, she looks at the clock and grins sleepily at him. “Happy Father’s Day Barry,” and it really, truly is).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short look at a hard & happy day in a father's life: the wedding of his first and eldest daughter. I envision Kella got married on a Saturday in mid-June, the day before Father's Day. Hope you liked this short, happy/sad fic.


	7. Independence Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it, the July 4th holiday story. Lots of Ben/Caitlin fluff because little kiddos are adorable. I really enjoy writing bits and pieces of individual Allen kids relationships with their parents and hadn't focused on Ben and Caitlin yet, so they took over this one. I'm going to do something with Caitlin and Kella next, since I don’t think I’ve done one that’s just those two yet either. Anyhow, hope you guys enjoyed! Feedback always appreciated!

“Bye momma,” a little voice calls from a few feet below, the tone a strange mix hovering between sad and certain, like someone trying to be brave but falling a little short of the mark.

Startled (by the words, by the way they’re said, by the fact that it’s her four year old standing on the other side of the kitchen island with his backpack filled to bursting and his sleeping back tied haphazardly beneath), Caitlin immediately sets down the knife she’s been using to slice watermelon and turns her full attention to Ben. One dark brow arches in a silent question that she knows her son won’t understand, so instead she drops into a crouch and fixes him with a curious, smiling look. “And just where are you off to young man?” Because he seems to be trying pretty hard to be one, his green eyes fixed and firm and stubborn.

“Leavin’,” he explains, as if that answers her question instead of just inspiring a half dozen new ones. Despite the concern tugging at her stomach, she has to fight the urge to laugh at the way his little hands reach up to tug at his dangling straps, resettling the weight of his backpack in that pseudo-confident way Caitlin knows he’s learned from his big sister—Kella likes to tug on her straps when she has a test she’s trying not to be nervous about.

“Oh I see,” Caitlin murmurs, nodding sagely, as if she really does and it makes perfect sense before smiling a little and adding on, “why are you leaving?”

At this question, he seems to deflate a bit. The puff of air he’s been using to fill his chest (like Cara does when she’s helped her team win a soccer game) rushes out and his eyes fall to the sandals strapped crookedly on his feet, his slightly too long mop of curls flopping into his eyes. “Kella said today’s Independence Day,” he tells his mother, little voice solemn even as he stumbles over the longer word. When Caitlin remains silent (because none of these pieces are fitting together any better than they did two minutes ago), he keeps explaining. “Independence Day means you gotta be independent and go live by yourself.” He says this as if it’s obvious, and his face twists into an affronted scrunch when Caitlin bursts into a peal of bubbling laughter.

Noticing the look, she immediately schools her expression back and swallows the remaining chuckles. “Did Kella tell you that too Ben?”

He shakes his head so sharply his curls fly again (Caitlin makes a mental note to schedule a haircut sometime soon). “Cara did.”

“Did she now?” She knows her daughter likely didn’t actually mean any harm (all three of her children usually get along remarkably well, and any squabbles typically occur between the girls rather than their baby brother) but clearly Ben’s taken Cara’s joke to heart. He nods enthusiastically and then, with some effort, pulls off his backpack.

“Yup! So I got all my stuff,” probably about half his room, judging by the way the zippers are bulging and one pocket won’t even shut while he points seriously to them, “but maybe I could take some cookies too?” Bright green eyes leave his mother and track over to the cookie jar, staring hopefully.

Caitlin just laughs again and straightens out, scooping up her son as she does. “Tell you what, how about we both have some cookies and milk before you have to go?” His determination to leave is immediately forgotten at this prospect, a toothy grin overtaking his face as Caitlin settles him on one of the high stools along the kitchen island.

“Okay!” And Ben is already reaching out to pluck a few of his favorite peanut butter chocolate chip cookies from the jar when Caitlin offers it to him. While he makes his choices (looking for the very biggest ones, the way his sisters have taught him to), she pours them each a glass of milk and settles across the counter, stealing the smallest of the four cookies he’s chosen.

Ben immediately starts to dunk his largest cookie into his milk, nibbling at the soft edges before he dunks it again, concentrating on not letting any pieces fall into his glass. Caitlin knows it’s a difficult task, so she just smiles and chews on her own treat until he’s finished all three and is slurping down what milk remains in his glass. “Thanks momma!” He exclaims when he’s done, distracted no longer and looking around for where he’s set his bag.

Smiling, she takes his glass and her own and sets them in the sink, grabbing a dishtowel to clean his sticky fingers and face and then wipe crumbs from the counter; all while Ben squirms at the attention. Once she’s finished, Caitlin squares herself up and sets her hands on her hips, ready to tackle this conversation. “So, you sure you have to go?”

He nods, but it’s not quite as dramatic as earlier. Whether it’s her tone of voice or the lingering taste of cookies that’s got him second-guessing, she doesn’t know.

“And you’re sure that’s what Cara told you?” Again, another nod even less vigorous and certain then the last one.

“I think so.”

“Hmmm,” Caitlin ponders, dark eyes lingering on that sweet little face. “Well you know, I always thought that Independence Day was about all of America becoming independent and leaving it’s home, not just one person.”

“Really?” He perks up, green eyes bright, clearly not too upset at the idea of being wrong.

“Mhm. A long, long time ago we were part of another big country, England, but we decided we wanted to be free from them instead and be our very own country. Kind of like when Kella wants to go hang out at the barn and not hang out with us,” (she’s not even a teenager quite yet, but that upcoming birthday scares Caitlin immensely), Ben seems to get this connection because he nod, enthusiastic once again. “Except forever and the all the people in America together. So they wrote a letter about it and agreed to send it on July 4th. And ever since then, we celebrate Independence Day as the day the whole country became free.”

Ben seems to soak the story in. It’s watered down and pretty general yet maybe still has too many details for her four year old but Caitlin wants to be sure he understands. God forbid he tries to leave later because he wasn’t persuaded and no one sees him sneak away. “So I don’t have to leave?”

He looks so hopeful, the same puppy-dog expression his father wears when he’s trying to get out of being in trouble for doing something ridiculous (like forgetting to fold laundry or showing up late for something important or getting hurt while saving the city) that Caitlin finds herself laughing again and reaching out to ruffle his hair. “Definitely not.”

He beams and starts to push his chair out, so Caitlin pulls him into a hug and then lets him down. “Since you’re staying, why don’t you go put your stuff away and get ready to go over to Grandpa Joe’s for a cookout?”

“Will there be hotdogs?” Hotdogs are apparently every preschooler’s favorite, because he looks even more excited now then he did learning he didn’t have to move out.

“And popsicles,” Caitlin promises, shaking her head when he grabs his backpack and tears off for his room (as best as he can while dragging the heavy collection of ‘supplies’). Still smiling, she turns back to the watermelon she’d been cutting earlier.

Barry comes in a few minutes later, shirtless and sweating and smelling like fresh cut grass. “Shoes,” Caitlin calls, without even looking up (she’s moved on to strawberries now). She hears him laugh and the sound (exactly like Ben’s, the way it rises and falls and is bright with enthusiasm, thought it’s several notes deeper) makes her look up. “So our son tried to run away today.” Caitlin starts, with no further preamble, giggling at the way Barry startles and looks up from his feet, lips turn downward, confused.

“What?” He looks adorable like that—brow knit into a tangle, green eyes muddled, even while his temples (where the slightest hint of gray is beginning to collect) drip in the lingering heat.

“Apparently when Cara explained what Independence Day was, there was a misunderstanding. He thought he had to move out and be independent.” And here her husband doubles over, beads of sweat falling on the tile and his hands braced against his knees. It takes him a minute to get it under control, so Caitlin just appreciates the sound and the picture it makes, shaking her head a little and leaving her fruit abandoned once more.

Finally, Barry wheezes out his last chuckle and straightens up. “I take it you got it all straightened out?”

“Nothing some milk, cookies and a momma/Ben talk couldn’t fix.”

He nods, grin still etched wide across his face. “I’ll go check in with them both after I shower, just to be sure we don’t wake up to an empty bed later tonight.”

“Thank you.” Barry’s halfway through the door when he ducks back in (fast as lightning) and pulls her into a sweaty, smelly, sticky hug and kiss.

Caitlin squirms and then he’s darting back to the doorway. “Barry!” she grumbles, halfheartedly. “We have to be ready to go to Joe’s in an hour.” His raised eyebrow doesn’t portray any concern (clearly not worried about the possibility of getting her dirty), so Caitlin just rolls her eyes and shoos him off to get shower and get ready. When he disappears around the corner she turns back to finish cutting strawberries and tucks the fruit into a bag with the big pack of sparklers she bought for the kids.

Two hours later, they’re all chasing each other (and their cousins) across Joe’s back yard, giggling and yelling and clutching their sparklers tight, reveling in the colors the jump from the metal. When the fireworks start just after dark, Ben crawls into Caitlin’s lap and presses his own sticky kiss to her cheek. “Thanks momma.”

“For what?”

“Not making me be independent,” again, he stumbles over the word. Caitlin just tugs him a little closer despite the warm night air and drops a kiss against his curls.

“You’re very welcome.”


	8. national coming out day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write an older Ben/Barry story and I was thinking about what it should be about, I realized I also wanted to acknowledge National Coming Out Day here in the states, so it addresses that a little (though now that I think about it, not so much the coming out part? fail…). Anyway, just wanted to take a moment to say to all the LGBTQ+ folks out there, I hope you’re in a place where you get to be who you are without judgement but if you ever need it, I’m here for you.

When school calls, Barry nearly asks if they’ve got the wrong number but somehow (miraculously) manages to catch his tongue before the incredulous question tumbles out. Instead, he sighs into the line and assures them he will be there shortly. A quick stop into the captain’s office and then he flashes over to the school, caught somewhere between perplexed, disappointed and vaguely angry.

Those feelings disappear immediately when he sees Ben slumped in a chair, folded in on himself miserably, dark curls rumpled. His son is absolutely radiating misery and everything else Barry is feeling flees to make room for the concern that floods through his system. The secretary is on the phone but seems to make the connection and nods him over to spare chair—Barry’s there in a few just slightly too quick strides, dropping down, angled towards his clearly despairing teenager, so distracted he doesn’t even notice his father until he speaks up. “You wanna tell me what’s going on?”

Ben’s gaze flies up, heavy and startled, and the look Barry finds there breaks his heart. “I got in a fight,” which is evident in the way his eye is already getting dark, a thick ring around the emerald hue they share. Caitlin is going to have a heart attack when they get home and she sees it.

“I heard,” Barry’s voice is solemn but it’s an easy fight to keep it even and mild, pressing as carefully for details as he can without casting any judgment. He and Caitlin have always been exceptionally lucky: their children are miraculously well behaved, considering who their parents are and what they do, so this is entirely out of character, especially for Ben who has always been the kind of quietly gregarious that draws friends rather then enemies—an easy mix between his parents in a way that neither of his sisters are.

There’s a few heartbeats of quiet before Ben spills, a damn bursting behind the misery and pouring out the root of his best intentions. “Trey Wickham and Mike Collins were making fun of Billie,” and suddenly pieces start to click in to place: Ben is their son, through and through. He’s not the kind of kid who would ever pick a fight but he’s the kind of young man who would jump into one to defend someone he loves. Billie Blake has been his best friend since they were five and literally ran into each other on the playground (which had also resulted in four stitches and an exceedingly distraught Caitlin). “They saw her with Sarah Woodhouse this weekend, kissing at the movies and they started giving her a hard time about it before homeroom,” and his voice, usually so bright and buoyant is wrung with a fine mixture of anguish and anger, regret for his current location and a conviction that Barry knows means he’d be here again in a heartbeat if anyone else gave his best friend a hard time about being bisexual. Despite the situation, Barry’s heart swells with pride. “Which is just stupid Dad—who cares if she likes girls and guys?”

“A lot of stupid people, unfortunately but none of the ones that matter.” That sigh he’d felt on the phone earlier builds back in his chest, escapes with the end of his sentence. “All the same, that doesn’t mean you should hit someone son; you can’t change a bully by imitating them.”

“I know.”

He still looks pretty miserable and Barry knows it’s probably not going to change once the door opens to the principals office so he slings an arm over Ben’s shoulder and pulls him in close. “For the record, I am proud of you Ben—for defending your friend and for having such a big, open heart.”

“Thanks dad.” Barry feels his shoulders relax a little bit, clearly relieved to know that his father isn’t disappointed in him, and it makes him smile. Ben leans in a little closer to whisper, joking and a little more himself: “Hard to judge anybody when your dad runs around the city in a full body leather suit.”

The principal doesn’t seem entirely amused to walk out and find the Allen’s laughing but she does go pretty easy on Ben when she gets the full story.

(Caitlin is another story: though her lecture is entirely on the danger of concussions and black eyes and taking bad risks. Barry assures Ben, when she clicks off to find an ice pack in the lab lounge, that that’s her way of saying how much she loves him and that she’s proud of him too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, no actually coming out stuff but Barry and Ben bonding and a new character in my family ‘verse: Billie Blake, Ben’s best friend (also, holy alliteration, didn’t realize it til I was halfway through–oops!). Hope you enjoyed!


	9. Family Costumes

It’s hard to tell who’s more excited about Halloween this year: the girls, her husband or Cisco (Ben would probably be excited too, if he was old enough to understand what was going on). They’ve been plotting and planning and sifting through craft stores for months now, searching for all the right pieces and doing an impressively good job of keeping their costume theme a secret (which makes her insanely nervous, but she hadn’t been able to resist the combined forces of Kella, Cara and Barry’s puppy dog eyes when they’d asked, so she’s been in the dark the whole time). They’re upstairs now, all four of them plus one year old Benjamin, getting changed to surprise her and then go trick-or-treating while Caitlin gets the candy bowl ready (which Grandpa Joe is staying behind to pass out).

“Brave of you,” he comments from the kitchen, where he’s putting the last of the dinner leftovers away.

“Hmm?” Caitlin looks up, distracted, at her father in law, who’s smiling softly. His hair and beard are dotted with grey but he’s got the same fond, firm smile he’s always had and Caitlin is so glad to have him in her life.

“Letting the boys plan Halloween.”

She laughs and waves a hand distractedly upstairs, before digging around for the tea lights in the side drawer. She needs to get their pumpkins lit before the big procession thunders downstairs and starts demanding they leave at once (the girls and the boys, probably Cisco most of all). “I didn’t get much of a choice.”

“Those big green and brown eyes are a killer,” Joe agrees, having fallen victim to his granddaughters on more then one occasion (and having raised their father, he’s had more than his fair share of experience).

“Plus, Cisco whined for a week straight at work until I gave in.” They’re both laughing at that, heads shaking as Caitlin finishes lighting the Jack-o-Lanterns to be set on the porch. “Apparently though it was all the girls’ idea-but I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Joe’s about to comment back, when a tiny, shouting voice interrupts him. “Momma? Grandpa? Are you ready?” It’s Cara, bright and energetic as always, all too-much volume and uncontainable enthusiasm. Her impatient footsteps are skirting the edge of the stairs, socked feet pounding at the edge of the carpet while she (barely) waits for confirmation. Her baby girl is a tornado waiting to happen and Caitlin’s not sure where she gets it from.

“You bet buttercup,” Joe beats her to it, eyes sparkling and mouth already tugged open for a good laugh. Caitlin gives her assent as well and the next thing she knows, three sets of feet are barreling down the stairs, Cisco just barely behind the girls, while Barry (of all people) follows slowly with Ben curled sleepily (the only one who is virtually unaffected by all the excitement) in his embrace.

Joe’s chuckling before Caitlin can so much as turn around, but she joins him pretty quickly when she does. The sight she finds pretty much necessitates it: apparently they’d decided on a Star Wars theme. Cara is grinning brightly with her robes and walking stick and knit Yoda cap, Kella looks far more reserved and serious as a miniature R2-D2 and Cisco looks ridiculous in what she assumes is his best attempt at a Wookie suit (her carpet is definitely going to need to be vacuumed tomorrow). Barry is a much better Obi Wan, simple and smiling as he holds a little (definitely adorable) Ewok Ben in his arms.

“You all look wonderful,” she decides between grins and giggles, reaching out to scoop up Ben and pull the girls into a hug.

“We didn’t forget you momma!” Kella reassures, thoughtful as always, while Cara pulls away to grab something abandoned on the stairs.

“You get to be jedi ‘cause Daddy says you always help save the day!” She hands her a robe and a light saber and Caitlin can’t help but catch Barry’s eye as she tugs them on, both their gazes dancing with mirth. She’s pretty sure this was all Cisco’s idea but she can’t say she minds her ridiculous, nerdy little family.

“Alright then, who’s ready to go trick or treating?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little, silly, family fic for Halloween. Kind of ridiculous because sometimes that's just fun to do and I had to have some awesome Uncle Cisco pop up sometime and this seemed appropriate :)


	10. Thanksgiving Traditions

“Do we have to?” A voice whines from the corner of the kitchen, where Ben is hanging half in the doorway while simultaneously trying to sneak away. His curls are spectacularly askew, damp with an early snowfall and he’s pouting with his snow pants on.

“Yes!” Two voices shout back, insistent where they’re settled at the kitchen counter, waiting for him to take said snow pants off and join them for the annual Allen sibling turkey cookie create-a-thon (as their dad loves to call it, much to their embarrassment and their mother’s fond amusement).

“But Billie’s dad is going to take us sledding while all the jumps are still good!” It’s the first snowfall of the year, eight inches of heavy powder and counting, and he doesn’t want to be left behind to hang out with his sisters—even if there is chocolate involved (and especially while mom and dad are out finishing up Thanksgiving dinner shopping and they’re in charge of him).

Cara is still glaring at the doorway, more than a little annoyed, but Kella’s expression softens with the hard won patience of being the oldest. “It’s tradition Ben, we make turkey cookies every year.” She nods at the supplies, all laid out along the counter, peanut butter cups unwrapped, fudge striped cookies open and a bowl of candy corn and chocolate stars waiting. Cara’s eyes roll in exasperation as she turns to fill icing bags, which only deepens the scowl the youngest Allen wears as annoyed with her as she is with him.

Sighing, Kella slides from her stool and pads across the chilly hardwood floor to stoop down in front of her brother. “You know, I really missed you while I was at school,” his hard expression falters a little—she knows he’s missed her too. Cara and Ben are two peas from the same pod: all energy and enthusiasm and strong personalities and they’ve been fighting like crazy since Kella left for college, half from missing her and half from driving each other crazy without her to bridge the gaps. “And it would be really nice to get to do something just the three of us, like we used to do.”

Cara huffs a little behind them, but she grabs a third bag and starts filling it with chocolate frosting, her own silent acquiescence that she’s missed them all hanging out too. Kella notices from the corner of her eye and smiles a little. “Besides, if we don’t make them, Dad’s going to be pretty disappointed,” this argument is the clincher—they all adore both their parents but Barry and Ben are constant partners in crime. There are few fates worse than the idea of disappointing their dad (probably helped by the fact that’s he’s a literal superhero—how do you disappoint the Flash?) and Kella knows that counts extra for Ben. “He was talking about turkey cookies the whole drive back from school and how excited he was for all our traditions this week.”

Because Barry Allen is nothing if not a sucker for traditions and he’s done nothing the last eighteen years if not drill the importance of them, and of family, into his kids’ minds. They always make turkey cookies the day before Thanksgiving, while their parents finish shopping. Then they have their big family dinner on Thanksgiving, with Grandpa Joe and Uncle Cisco and Aunt Iris and Uncle Eddie and their cousins, after which they have game night and pie. The next day, the boys put up Grandpa Joe’s Christmas lights and the girls go shopping and then they eat leftovers at Grandpa’s house and put up his tree. Every single year, all planned out, all the same memories and traditions and it all starts with the turkey cookies.

Ben sighs, defeated, and starts shuffling off his snow pants, dropping them in a heap by his dripping boots. Kella smiles and leaves him to it, heading back to the counter to tape down their wax paper work stations while Cara divvies out supplies.

“You forgot the tray,” Ben mumbles, when he slides sock-footed back into the kitchen and heads straight for the cabinet where the ridiculously painted turkey tray they made their mom five years ago sits. He’s smiling at it by the time he pulls himself on to a stool, unable to resist (it’s the ugliest thing any of them have ever seen, but Caitlin always insists on using it).

Cara grins too, leaning across the counter with her pastry bag to squeeze some frosting onto Ben’s nose. “Sorry for being mean earlier,” she says, laughing at the way his nose scrunches and a bit of chocolate drops to the counter before he swipes it away and licks his thumb clean.

“Sorry for wanting to skip cookies.”

Kella hides her grin behind a fudge-striped cookie she’s meticulously dabbing with her own bag of frosting, affixing it to the peanut butter cup as soon as her expression is back under control. They’re so alike it’s crazy and kind of frustrating, but she’s definitely missed them the last two and a half months.

“Maybe we can all go sledding once we’re finished?”

Ben beams at Cara then turns to Kella, since she’s the only one who can actually drive. “Could we?”

“You bet.”

They’re all covered in frosting by the time Barry and Caitlin come home, bundled up against the cold and weighed down with grocery bags. They take one look at their three kids and start laughing. “Ah yes, the get-frosting-everywhere tradition,” Caitlin teases while Barry pulls out his phone and snaps a picture (also a tradition: he has a collage of them on his desk at work).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First time writing basically just the Allen kids but hopefully you guys enjoyed it! I’ll probably write some extra family holiday fics in the next month because I love family traditions this time of year and have a couple ideas of things to include. Hope all my American snowbarry family friends had a lovely holiday and everyone else as well!


	11. Christmas Morning

“This seems like a dangerous Christmas tradition to start,” Caitlin whispers, using the sliver of hall light to peer into the room where their three year old is still blissfully asleep, curled beneath her blankets. It’s just barely after six on Christmas morning and it’s the first year that Kella is really beginning to understand the whole Santa thing. They had decided once and for all they weren’t going to do the Elf on the Shelf thing (Barry refuses on the grounds that it’s creepy and Caitlin is not willing to scare her children into behaving because of said elf) but the spirit and story of Santa have been something they’ve enjoyed sharing the last few weeks—helped along by Uncle Cisco, cousin Joey and an especially enthusiastic Grandpa Joe.

“It’s a compromise Cait,” Barry starts from just behind her, pressed warm against her shoulder as his breath tickles the back of her ear. She turns just enough for him to see her puzzled frown and arched eyebrow and then the shiver his breathy laugh invokes as it washes across her skin. “We’re making 6 am the early rule and having family breakfast first—by the time both of them understand Christmas, it’ll already be a special routine. This gives us all the control.” Here his hands snake away from their place on her hips to span across her belly, which feels so much larger than it did the first time around, even though she still has six weeks to go.

Like it always does, the thought of two little Allen babies running around sends a flutter through her chest—something lighter and warmer than baby kicks, though no less wonder inspiring. Some days she still scarcely believes this is her life: Barry and Mikeala and their little house with the swing set in the back yard and the perfect tree house tree that Grandpa Joe and Uncle Cisco have been plotting and planning since they moved in and yet in just six short weeks (hopefully Baby 2 inherits her ability to be prompt, unlike Kella) there will be two little girls lighting up their lives.

Still, for all the warmth it infuses into her chest, it’s not enough to distract her from his comment or the urge to laugh: “All the power? As if Kella doesn’t have you wrapped around her tiny little fingers and as if it won’t be that much worse when there’s two of them—you’ll let them drag you out of bed at two am if that’s when they want to open Santa’s presents.” There’s no heat in the accusation, her words all fond and affectionate and teasing and Barry knows that she is, of course, correct.

“I’m going to be such a pushover,” he groans suddenly, burying his face into the side of her neck and tugging her just a bit closer.

Laughing, Caitlin turns in his arms to press a kiss against his collarbone. “You already are sweetheart, but it’s adorable.” She can feel his smile against her hair, a wide grin that she knows, even without looking, is as full of blatant disbelief as hers was just a minute earlier. They bask in the quiet a little longer and then she pulls away just enough to catch his gaze in the still scant light of their hallway and the tree downstairs (giant, of course, and stuffed with lights—completely Cisco’s fault). “Ready to commit to this?”

“We do have all the ingredients set up for waffles.” He looks a little sheepish at that confession, having set up in a flash while she’d stumbled out of bed, “and we’re already here by her door.”

“Waffles?”

“Seemed like another good tradition to start,” Barry explains with another kiss, catching her giggle at the source this time.

“Our favorite,” she can’t help but beam, her own excitement building at the prospect—Barry might be the one who claims to be a sucker for them, but Caitlin loves all their little family traditions just as much as he does and the effort he puts into starting them is just one of the reasons she loves him so much.

“Nothing but the best for my girls.”

(6 am does, miraculously, become the standard Christmas morning wake up time. Barry makes waffles, Caitlin and the girls, and eventually Ben, set the coffee table in the living room and they sit on the floor and eat breakfast and watch Rudolph, sticky voices singing along until it’s time to open Santa’s presents. Afterwards, they all pile into their bed for a nap before lunch at Grandpa Joe’s and when Kella tells them she’s carrying on the tradition with her own kids one Christmas Eve many years later, Barry kisses Caitlin’s temple and grins: “Thank goodness we always embraced a little danger in our family traditions.”)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sticky, sweet, silly family fluff, focusing this time on mom & dad, rather then the babies. I'll get my belated new years eve fic up in the next few days as well.


	12. New Year's Eve

"Shh...they're asleep," Caitlin murmurs as Barry turns in his chair, half lit by the credits of Inside Out that are rolling across the television screen. Smiling fondly, she nudges her chin in the direction of their girls: Cara is nestled up against her side, head pillowed on her thigh, breathing deeply and clutching her blanket to her chest while Kella is stretched out against the far couch cushion, buried in her pillows, legs impossibly tangled with her sister's.

From the corner of her eye, she watches Barry's head bob and shoulders shake with ill contained laughter, just barely muffled by his clenched jaw and raised hand. When he finally manages to get the sound under control, he's still grinning. "Ben too," but that's hardly a surprise: their ten month old has been blessedly regular about his sleeping patterns and could probably manage to slumber peacefully through the apocalypse (a theory Barry hopes dearly never to test; he bites his tongue whenever someone makes the analogy, given how frighteningly un-impossible that scenario is in their lives). Currently he's curled in his father's arms, still and wrapped snugly, because both girls had insisted that baby Ben couldn't miss family New Year's Eve movie night.

"How many years do you think we have until they can actually make it to midnight?" Barry whispers, shifting his weight carefully to stand without disturbing their youngest. He had thought that Kella, at nine now, would still be awake and ready for the ball drop (it's been their main point of excitement since about two days after Christmas: getting to stay up until midnight and watch movies and eat popcorn, per their family tradition) but he's pretty sure she'd been dozing on and off even before they started movie number three.

Careful not to wake Cara, or Kella by extension, Caitlin slips out from beneath her and follows Barry as he heads up to put Ben to bed. "If their ages were reversed, I think they would have made it tonight. Give Cara another year or two and she'll be ready to keep them both awake, all night if we let them." She is definitely her father's daughter: all endless energy and buoyant optimism (and reckless too, as her stitches this summer have made too obvious, much to Caitlin's chagrin). "Kella, on the other hand, probably wouldn't ever care without Cara to egg her on."

Once again Barry barely manages to stifle a chuckle, leaning down to settle Ben in his crib and pull a blanket over him. "That's probably true," he allows, turning to pull Caitlin into his arms while they watch quietly to make sure the baby remains sleeping. She breaks from the embrace for a moment, reaching to run her fingers gently through Ben's fine, dark hair. When she straightens, burrowing back into Barry’s side, he turns to press a kiss against to her temple and nuzzle against her curls. "Wonder what he'll be like in a few years."

"Hopefully somewhere in the middle," Caitlin jokes as they quietly backtrack out of the room, catching up the baby monitor on their way out. "Less reckless than Cara, and you," she adds, poking him teasingly in the side and stressing the word, "at the very least."

"Well he already sleeps a lot more like Cara did as a baby, so you might be out of luck." (They will never not find Kella's exceptionally rough first few months ironic, given how mild and easy going she is, especially in contrast to her younger sister). "Speaking of, are we waking up the girls for midnight?"

They're at the top of the stairs now, which overlook the living room, where the title screen has taken back over, a quiet melody and the cast of bright colors washing over their still peacefully sleeping children.

"We probably should." Not that she really thinks it's wise to wake two otherwise perfectly sleeping kids but she can only imagine how disappointed they're going to be that they fell asleep, never mind that they would also miss the start of the new year. They'll be sleepy in the morning (Kella especially), but it's Friday and it's not like they have anywhere to be.

"Well it's only ten fifteen now," Barry says with a sudden grin, using the mild light to check the time on Grandpa West's old watch. "We could start another movie and let them sleep...Jurassic World?"

He sounds so hopeful, Caitlin can't help burst into giggles. "Oh yeah, let's wake the girls up to dinosaurs eating people--that's definitely going to make morning that much easier," she can just imagine their reactions.

"But, dinosaurs Cait!" He protests, grinning around the vague hint of warring enthusiasm and disappointment dancing in his eyes. "And science!" He adds, knowing how much she loves poking holes in the logic of the movie.

She has four children some days, she swears. "Barry," it's a groan but there's no real annoyance behind it, just fond exasperation.

"You know it's one of your favorites: we can turn the volume way down: we both know most of the words anyway."

"You're impossible," but he knows (because he's already beaming boyishly, tugging her close for a linger kiss) that she's caving. 

She laughs against his mouth, which just gets him started, and then he's zipping off at super speed to get the movie set up before he’s back to kiss her again, this time on the forehead, as the player loads. "I'll make more popcorn and bring some wine, we can cuddle in the arm chair until it's time to wake the girls."

And how can she honestly say no to all that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another fluffy piece of quality family time.

**Author's Note:**

> So I wanted to contribute to all the Valentine’s love, both from my contest and from everyone else, and it turned in to a fun family fic. Decided as I was getting read to post this that I wanted to do a whole story of Allen family holiday themed stories, so this will be the first one. Not sure if I’ll update as holidays come or just when I get an idea, but I will definitely tackle all the big ones.
> 
> Just some family fluff, inspired by the cookies my own mom made for me each year as a kid. It’s definitely a tradition I hope to continue in my own family some day. Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Thanks for reading, feedback always appreciated! Happy Valentine’s Day!


End file.
